


Into Your Life It Will Creep

by TNB



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anal Fingering, Drugging, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Occult, PWP, Virgin Keith, Voyeurism, a little plot, and sometimes you raise world ending eldritch deities inside boys you wanna smash, dubcon, eldritch horror, sometimes you wanna sacrifice some virgins for good grades
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 21:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16457591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TNB/pseuds/TNB
Summary: Keith has been having bizarre dreams that leave him empty and questioning his existence in the world. A chance encounter with some chloroform and a cult change his outlook, and his mortality.





	Into Your Life It Will Creep

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> This was supposed to be a one off but now I've got plans, I say, plans!

Keith is running along a never-ending corridor, narrow and stone paved with cold stone walls. Behind him he hears deep snuffs of breath, hot on the back of his neck. Loud thumps that shake the earth beneath him remind him of the pursuit and he runs faster, gasping for breath that burns his lungs and makes his skin crawl like something else is alive underneath it. The breaths get louder, hotter, wetter, he can feel it almost reach him. He’ll be caught, he’ll be devoured, he’ll-

“Keith, that’s the alarm!”

A sharp, blaring noise punctures Keith’s dream, and then it’s gone like morning fog in the sun. It must have been another weird dream, then. He’s been having so many of those.

“Nn, it’s just the second one.”

“No, it’s the third. Get up before I crack your phone over the bathroom sink.”

Keith opens his eyes finally and is greeted by the early morning sun; or more like a lens flare cast from the thick, university grade, suicide proof glass from their 14th story dorm room. It’s technically the 13th floor but the assumption was people were much more superstitious in the 1960’s dark age of architecture. The light burns his retinas, but he finally swings his legs over the side of the bed and dresses.

The room is narrow in a way that makes it feel like a coffin with a window view of the steep hill it sits atop, the beds needing to lay headboard to headboard to fit. Lance watches him out the corner of his eye from the other side of the room as he brushes his teeth over the bizarrely small crotch-level sink. “What?” Keith asks.

Lance turns and spits into the sink, some of it misses and hits the cold water tap which he does nothing about. Keith would be hard pressed to say that 80% of the mess in their shared living space was Lance owned and operated, like a dog marking its territory. He’s always had some weird thing against Keith since their first year as roommates, but it’s recently mellowed into something less antagonistic and more sibling annoying.

“So,” Lance starts, still eyeing Keith, “you ever get that date with the guy from bio?”

Keith really doesn’t want to have this conversation now if Lance is just looking to pick on him. “No,” Keith states finitely.

“You didn’t go out with him or anything?” Lance presses.

“No, I didn’t. He made some shitty remarks and I just wasn’t feeling it, okay? Sorry I don’t have a new date every weekend like you, it’s a little harder for people like me.” Keith doesn’t want to have to get into the logistics of the gay dating scene with Lance again, but Lance seems to finally drop the subject.

“I wish I had taken more notes for the exam today,” he whines, and Keith is already ignoring him in favor of swinging his backpack on and opening the door. Lance follows because they share the same morning schedule as he talks about everything and nothing at the same time. Keith makes mindless noises every once in a while, to pretend like he’s paying attention.

The student housing that Keith and Lance currently call home is a tall, cement tower-like structure surrounded by three other tall tower-like structures, each with 13 floors plus a basement. Outside in the center of it all is a square paved with what looks like stark white marble. When you stand in the dead center of it all and turn around you’re surrounded by the four towers, each looming against the sky and casting massive shadows against the otherwise preppy campus. The term _brutalism_ in this situation is both a description and a threat, Keith thinks.

And even stranger still, each tower has a lion relief carved into the front, right above the doorway. They’re each intricate and beautiful showing a lioness in different states of being; one laying on a rock, one pouncing into the air, one breaking a gazelle’s neck, and one voraciously eating. He wonders how much the university paid for them and why, especially when the mascot is a bird.

They make it down the stairs and outside into the square, filled with students socializing and walking to class. It seems so much less sterile with the bustle, but Keith still hates the way his shoes click with each step along the path.

“I’ll see you after class, Allura!” Keith hears call from behind them. He and Lance both turn to see the golden boy himself stride up alongside them.

Takashi Shirogane, flawless, affluent, and quarterback for the university team, with a chiseled jaw and perfectly symmetrical face adorned with a perfectly symmetrical scar across the bridge of his nose. Keith has had dreams of running his fingers through the soft buzzed sides of his hair into his fringe and he’s ashamed to think Lance might have heard him jerk off afterwards. Not that Lance was a saint by any stretch of the imagination if the wastebasket filled with tissues next to his bed has anything to say.

“Lance, how are you? This must be your roommate Keith, right?”

Keith is at a loss for words, Shiro’s voice is so dark and rich he can barely string together the sentence he just heard in his mind. “Y- yeah, I’m Keith. Nice to meet you.”

Shiro reaches out his right hand and grips Keith’s, shaking it firm but gentle. His hands are big, and each finger feels like it could wrap around Keith’s wrist twice. When they part Shiro smiles down at Keith, practically beaming. Keith can’t see what he would be so happy about, but he can’t seem to find it in him to care while being blinded by the attention from Shiro. 

“Lance has told me so much about you,” Shiro says, his smile wide across his face and his teeth gleaming in the morning light. Keith snaps his neck back to Lance and gives him a look, _you were talking about me to him?_

Lance just shrugs and looks away. Before Keith can actually say anything his attention is caught by Shiro again, “you paint right? Lance said you were an artist. I’d love to see your work sometime.”

“No!” Keith says a little too loudly, “I mean, I’m not really an artist, I’m a graphic design major. Painting and stuff is just a hobby.”

“That’s still art though. Why don’t I come by sometime and you can show me?”

Keith is caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, he would love for Shiro to be in his room spending intimate time together. On the other hand, he’d have to show some of his artwork and a lot of it is sketches of athletes on the training field.

Like, a lot of it.

It’s not Keith’s fault that they make such good (free) life models. And Shiro makes an appearance in quite a few of those drawings.

Quite. A. Few.

“Of course you can come by,” Keith says, mentally preparing how he will burn half his collection of sketchbooks.

“Cool, I’ll get in contact with Lance about it soon. See you!” Shiro says as he beams and melts back into the wave of students lapping into the buildings and classrooms.

Keith whips back to Lance, “you _know_ him?”

Lance gives another shrug, “yeah, so?”

“So? That’s the star quarterback, why is he hanging out with you? No offence,” Keith adds on quickly.

Lance looks like he’s heard this a lot, “we met in Psych101 freshman year for a project and just kind of hung out ever since. It’s not a big deal.” He starts digging in his ear instead of paying attention to Keith.

“Besides, he’s just a normal dude when it boils down to it. If you want to get to know him I’ll leave you two to look at your _art_ in peace.”

The problem with Lance is once he’s found your weakness he knows how to dig into it from every possible angle and with every sharp object in the vicinity. And Keith really only has this one weakness.

“Don’t tell him about the football drawings.”

“Why not?” Lance grins like a cat, “he deserves to know when he stars in so many of them. It’s only fair.”

* * *

 

The hangout sesh goes extremely well.

Keith had stuffed all of his compromising sketches under his mattress so flipping through his art with Shiro was less heart-in-throat feeling. They chatted, and Keith found out some things about Shiro, like how he was raised by his grandmother, and that he loves sliced apples in his grilled cheese.

After an hour or so Lance showed up and they all played some racing game on the monitor Lance insisted he needed. It was, in Keith’s opinion, a pretty good time overall.

And best of all, when Shiro left to return to his room for the night he dropped his contact info in Keith’s phone.

“For next time we hang out,” Shiro said with a smile as he retreated back to his place.

Keith couldn’t help but grin like the cat that got the canary as he closed the door, and he’s sure he wore the same look on his face for the next week.

Hanging out with Shiro became a much more common occurrence after that, with or without Lance. Keith felt comfortable enough around him to start drawing when they watched mindless shows and open the door with messy hair.

“It must be a very serious relationship, then,” Lance snickers.

But it was, to Keith. It was the closest he’d ever been to another person in a, well, what he thought was a romantic context. Only, Shiro never stayed late enough to make a move. And Keith very much wanted him to make a move.

One night it had been pouring and Keith tried to get him to stay, “It’s awful outside, you should spend the night. I can sleep on the floor, I don’t mind,” Keith begged. But Shiro looked so apologetic as he told Keith he had plans early the next morning and couldn’t stay.

Keith could take a hint.

So Keith drifted along in their friendly, borderline romantic but not of the sexual variety relationship. He’d get a random tinder date every now and then but none of them seemed to stick around after the first movie.

“Are you still on that app?” Shiro would ask, and Keith would scroll through his matches while Shiro would pick out reasons each of them wasn’t Keith’s type.

But even though Keith was getting closer to Shiro, and even though his emotional life seemed pretty alright, he still had those weird dreams. Ones of being chased, of being hunted. Ones that made him wake in a cold sweat with no memory of what made him react that way. And what he did remember was bits and pieces, a dark stain here, a blood-curdling scream there.

Keith snaps awake with a deep inhale. Something feels off.

He deeply wills his eyes to adjust to the night as he lays stock still in bed. In his dream there was someone ruffling around his room. He heard a zipper.

But it was just a dream, wasn’t it?

A rustling sound comes from behind Keith and as he quickly turns in bed a gloved hand reaches out and covers his mouth and nose. The smell from it burns deeply, and Keith tries to wrestle and scream as he’s dragged from his covers.

The hand is firm over his mouth, though, and another one is holding his arms behind his back. Keith twists and turns to break loose, but the intruder is too strong. He bends his body enough to look up, but his assailant is wearing a dark hoodie and their face is concealed by the shadows. He sees Lance still asleep in his bed and reaches his hand out toward him, begging, pleading he’ll wake up and help. It’s his last conscious thought before the world goes dark.

Keith wakes again, only this time it’s much slower. The world is like a cup of colors, sloshing in his vison until it settles into a picture. As the waves slow he can finally start to make out his surroundings; under his body is dirt and he can feel the soft, cool grass against his cheek. Trees start to form in the distance, large ones that canopy the sky. He turns his head to the other side, more trees. A forest, then.

Keith slowly sets himself upright, still adjusting to the groggy feeling of being drugged. He wills himself to focus in the night’s dark presence. He’s dressed so, that’s good. He doesn’t have his cellphone or any electronic devices so, that’s bad.

As he begins to pick himself up off the ground the sound of padded footsteps approach from before him. Keith squints to make out the figure that splits the trees as it nears. It’s tall, inhumanely tall, but has a distinctly human gait.

As it nears Keith can finally make out a robe and large antlers. It doesn’t feel real, that _thing_ can’t be real. Keith is frozen to the spot until the creature is only feet away from him, looking down with cold, empty eye sockets.

It’s a deer skull, only it’s massive. Bigger than any Keith has ever seen with antlers tall enough to touch the sky. It’s somehow attached to a body hidden beneath black robes. Keith wishes he could run but at this point he’s fairly convinced none of this is real anyway.

The creature lifts its right arm and a distinctly human hand is revealed, palm up in offering. The hand is large and looks ruddy enough that there must be some blood in it. Keith waits a beat, and then gently reaches out and takes it.

It’s cold to the touch, but Keith is certain his is too from the night.

The creature guides him through the woods hand-in-hand in some mockery of a fairy tale, gliding along the underbrush while Keith’s doe legs buckle at the unfamiliar terrain. Keith wishes they had something to light the path as he trips along branches and brambles. The creature takes its time, though, and lifts Keith when he stumbles.

They finally make it to something. The creature stops in its tracks in front of an old, decrepit stone building. Only the guts are left, whatever luxuries having been long since weathered away. Keith is still holding the creature’s hand as it guides him through the archway and into the structure. He’s led to what was once a room, and the creature finally let’s go of his hand to bend down and open a trap door.

The staircase beneath it is steep and narrow, and Keith looks up at the creature who in turn looks down expectantly. Keith can’t read his face, but he can read the energy surrounding it; sparkling with excitement and newfound haste. He takes a deep breath and turns to the staircase, slowly making his descent.

He runs his hands along the stone wall as he walks, careful not to trip over the steep steps. The further he goes the darker it gets until no light is left and he can’t see the creature behind him when he turns. A hand gently grabs his shoulder before the last step in warning, and he hits the ground safely. The creature takes his hand again and they continue on.

It feels like hours that they’re walking, silence interrupted only by the occasional drip of water or what sounds suspiciously like a rat scurrying. None of it phases Keith, who feels grounded in the presence of the creature. They walk in tandem, foots falling in an even pace and Keith swears he can hear their hearts beat the same way. It’s like he was always meant to be here and do this. Whatever it is.

Then, in the distance, Keith hears it. A low, monotonous chanting that’s barely audible save for the reverberations against the stone walls. He strains his ears, trying to understand. As they get closer it gets louder, chanting in some language Keith can’t comprehend but that feels so familiar. So nostalgic.

A dim light appears in the horizon and the chanting is everywhere now, it’s in Keith’s head, his body, his bones and blood and nervous system. He’s shaking from it and the creature must think it’s distress because he squeezes Keith’s hand but presses him on, there’s no point in stopping now.

They walk through an open wooden door into a dimly lit room. There are lit candles on what looks like a bright marble bench with a rich red table runner. Around the room are more lit candles held by giant wrought iron candelabras. The rooms itself seems to be fairly large and square, but there at the front of the marble bench is a massive lion carved from the same marble. The stark white of the lion and the deep red of the table runner visibly pops from the rest of the dark and drab room which, Keith now realizes, is occupied.

Too absorbed with the lion, Keith didn’t even notice that circled around the bench are many more creatures each with a different animal skull head of enormous proportions; there’s a cat, an ox, a bird of some sort, a ram, maybe that one’s a fox? Keith loses track trying to identify them all, and startles when the hand presses at the small of his back urging him to continue forward.

He’s led to the bench and sits without prompt, looking up at his guide. The other creatures slowly walk forward, circling the bench tighter and giving Keith a giddy, uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. One of them is holding a huge chalice, another a knife, and still another some rope. Something was going to happen, something big.

The creature, _Keith’s_ creature, kneels in front of him and reaches his hands out to glide them over his arms and chest.

_He’s shaking_ is all Keith can think, _he’s nervous_.

Keith doesn’t know what comes over him, but he takes the creature’s hands in his own and guides them over his chest. He slowly traces his nipples with them, closing his eyes as the creature starts to move on its own and further explore Keith. Those shaking hands become steady with confidence and power, sliding down Keith’s belly and kneading into his hips, and then finally letting them rest on his thighs.

It’s incomprehensible, the power Keith feels in that moment, like he owns these beings in this room. They’re his, they’re here for him after all. The giddy feeling returns tenfold and Keith knows without being told to strip.

None of the creatures have moved besides the one before Keith, but Keith doesn’t mind. It comes naturally, he feels inexplicably comfortable with the situation. That power running through him as the circle of creatures watch him enraptured as he gently plucks his shirt off and slides his sweats down finally revealing his lithe body.

The creature before him gestures to the marble slab, but Keith already knows. It feels like all of these puzzle pieces he’s been carrying around are starting to fit into place. Keith lies down on the cold marble and shivers but stays still as another creature approaches and starts massaging ritual oil into his skin. It’s relaxing, oddly, and the creature is careful not to touch him anywhere sensitive.

While he is massaged Keith watches the giant, skull head of the being. This one is a cat, perhaps, if the fangs and length of the skull are anything to go by. He ponders how, in the end, many skulls look very similar to one another. And that’s all we’ll be, after all.

The hands leave his body and Keith looks down, he glistens with oil in the candlelight as it reflects off his fair skin. He wishes he could run his hands along himself, to feel the oil run beneath his fingers as he takes himself in hand. But somehow once again he knows better.

The deer-headed creature motions for him to sit up and then flip over, as he does so the circle around him tightens until even the candelabras are blocked from view. The rope is produced from the crowd by the bear-headed creature, and reverently handed over to the deer. It’s thin, well worn rope that looks soft to the touch from use.

Keith is guided into position, the creature careful not to touch between his legs as he is knelt before the massive white lion. He tries to look up, his one fault, but a hand quickly presses his face back down into the velvet table runner. When is forehead is touching and his hips are raised the creature crosses his ankles and tightly, but not too tightly, ties the rope in place.

Keith doesn’t know what’s happening – doesn’t _really_ know what’s happening, even with his gut feeling – until the chalice is placed noticeably under his length. Despite the sureness, despite the dreams, despite following an unknown into this pit, Keith finally starts to panic. His breath becomes uneven and his nails dig into the hard surface until his fingertips turn white.

He’s never done this before, this is new and unfamiliar territory with new and unfamiliar beings. The light within him, whatever has been guiding him, is flickering under his fear. He can’t go through with this, it’s too scary. And what if it’s painful? What if he wants to leave?

As Keith starts to pick through escape options at rapid fire he feels a hand on his shoulder, the creature’s hand again. It’s gentle but firm in place and Keith feels the waning fire within him burn a little brighter. It’s a gesture of comfort, and Keith is grateful because he needs to see this through, he knows he does. It feels like destiny. His purpose.

The hand gives a small squeeze to his shoulder, and then begins to slowly drift down. Along Keith’s naked skin he can feel the calluses on the creature’s fingers; tough, gritty ones. It makes Keith shiver when it passes along his spine and down to where the meat of his cheeks begins. Keith waits for the next touch, knows it will be intimate. It feels like the creature is prolonging the whole ordeal, dragging it out and driving Keith mad.

Keith finally feels the hands run along his cleft, teasing, and then the thumb and index finger slowly spread him. He hears cloth ripple around the room, knows the others must be shifting for a better look. He hears a few small sounds of appreciation and then the tinker of a bell ringing. Whatever it is, Keith must have passed because another chalice is being brought before Keith. This creature, the ox, gives a few small blessings in that familiar language again before walking around to his back. The deer-creature takes Keith between both hands and spreads him further, and this time Keith can feel the cold air of the dungeon against his sensitive skin. It makes him clench and another round of appreciative noises cloak him.

Keith wishes he could turn around and look behind him, to actually know what’s going on, but his head is frozen to the spot in his kneeling position. His body trembles in anticipation, and then all at once warm oil is being poured down his backside and between his cleft. It runs over his hole in rivulets and down his legs and thighs dripping onto the velvet table runner and marble.

It’s terribly erotic and Keith feels himself stir beneath his belly before a finger starts rubbing over his pucker. He jerks in surprise, but the other hand reaches out to catch him from moving too much. It steadies him by his flank, and then the finger is moving again. He feels so hot and dizzy now, even under the damp, cold earth as the finger teases light presses over his hole, checking his give.

Keith can’t hold it in anymore and let’s out a wanton moan right as the finger finally presses in against his ring, a continuous force without stop and Keith feels like it will never end. Finally, Keith feels the knuckle touch his skin and the finger crooks itself, testing again. The other hand starts to slowly rub up and down his back in a soothing way and Keith realizes he’s mumbling out begs and pleases, not knowing what he’s really looking for.

The hand on his back continues to soothe as the finger draws back slowly and then pushes in again, this time much faster. Keith gives out a hoarse cry, it’s so much pressure and he’s never done this to himself before. The finger continues to work him at a steady pace while the oil continues to drip down his fingers and wrist making dirty squelching noises. Keith can’t stop the cries coming out of him, he feels the pressure deep within his gut much more forcefully than anytime he’s touched his length.

The hand pauses for a split second before Keith feels a second finger press in quick enough that he’s not given a chance to adjust before the pace resumes and he’s crying out again. Each breath feels like it’s forcefully exited from Keith’s body, and he rocks forward slightly with each thrust. It’s steady and deep and the noises are getting to his head. Keith knows he’s painfully hard and wishes he could touch himself to end the prolonged experience, but the same feeling that drove him here is telling him he needs to do this untouched. He steels himself and lets the creature work him, fucking him with dominant strokes.

Keith lets it happen, allows himself to be violated by this unknown entity and voyeuristically watched by a group of followers as he performs some ritualistic task his fogged mind has deemed worthy. The fingers shift slightly and then they’re brushing his prostate and Keith is singing, blessing, begging for his body to give him relief from this mortal coil.

A snake within his gut unravels and slithers.

As his climax approaches Keith feels a blinding flash of heat coat the insides of his body and stick, melting through his skin and blood in agony like it was trying to escape his flesh. He moans in bizarre ecstasy and pain, begging for whatever this is to leave his body but wishing it would never stop, too. The fingers never falter, moving in pace to perform their sacred duty and Keith writhes as much as he can, his body knowing it can’t move too much lest the hand is removed and the whole thing is for naught.

Keith’s eyes sting with tears running down his face, when had he started crying? His nipples burn from the drag against the red velvet and his cock is so heavy, swinging like a pendulum underneath his belly. He wishes he could grip at his stomach, claw at his own flesh, be rid of this- this-

He comes in a flash of blinding euphoria unlike any he’s ever experienced. The world, the earth, the sky, its creatures all become one in Keith’s eyes as he looks down upon them and weeps because the tears won’t stop, and Keith understands it all so much now. His purpose is clear. He was found. He was finally _found._

By _Shiro._

* * *

Shiro lifts his mask and cups Keith’s limp body in his arms, reverently touching his face. “You were so good, Keith,” he whispers, “you knew exactly what to do.”

“Shiro!” Lance fake whispers in distress, “what if he wakes!?”

“He won’t, he’s drained,” Shiro sighs in delight. It’s all he’s ever wanted, to hold Keith like a lover. To see his most intimate parts and expressions. He feels a little cheated, circumstances requiring him to share the experience, but it all worked out. It _will_ all work out.

Lance throws his arms up in frustration but doesn’t say anything else, his part being done. It was a lucky break that Lance had offhandedly learned of Keith’s virgin status, it’s so hard to find them on a college campus. Especially ones Shiro wants to touch.

But oh, how Shiro wanted to touch. It was borderline torture watching Keith sketch him and his team members at practice or eating with classmates in the cafeteria and not being able to engage. He felt even worse scaring Keith’s potential suitors off, making them lie and hurt Keith. Keeping the group a secret was high priority, even if that meant not talking to other members outside of their little gatherings and using scare tactics.

But then Lance would send him pictures of Keith, asleep in bed, changing, fresh out of the shower and Shiro begged, pleaded to their God that this boy was untouched because Shiro knew he was his and his alone. Their God must have heard because here he was, safe in Shiro’s arms, and he was never letting go of him again.

A worthy sacrifice, if Shiro were to say. And maybe it would give him passing grades on his finals.

* * *

Keith wakes up the next morning in his bed with the worst hangover of his life.

Even worse, he wakes to Lance staring at his face almost nose-to-nose.

“Agh!”

“Sorry! Sorry, you were just making weird gurgling noises and I wanted to check you weren’t drowning in your own spit or something.”

Keith rubs at his head and groans in pain, it throbs and his bottom feels a little sore too. Did he fall at some point this week?

“I think I had another weird dream,” Keith slurs in his warm morning voice.

Lance watches him, “do you remember any of it?”

“No, but this one feels important,” Keith yawns, “for some reason.”

They meet up with Shiro for brunch and enjoy some greasy eggs and avocado toast. Keith drinks a glass of ice water and two mugs of coffee, but the tiredness won’t leave him. His body feels weird and unused, like he’s new to piloting it.

He glances to a table as a woman cuts into her over-easy eggs and watches as blood pours from it into her hash browns.

Wait no.

Keith blinks, double takes. It’s just egg yolk, yellow, runny. Normal.

Lance bids them goodbye to hang out with his best friend Hunk, and Keith is left alone to nurse a third cup of coffee with Shiro. He has bags almost as bad as Keith’s and he’s wearing a glove on his right hand today. But only on his right hand.

Keith also can’t help but notice that Shiro’s eyes haven’t left him once the whole time they’ve been out. Normally he’d be happy, flattered even, but the looks is hungry. And behind that, manic.

“You okay?” Keith asks, offhand.

“Keith,” Shiro starts, nervously drumming his own coffee mug with the tips of his clothed fingers, “have you ever heard of Voltron?”

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t you just hate it when you’re a college student and you dick around with occult stuff to win some footballs games and maybe get an A in calc and then suddenly you raise a world destroying demon within the boy you have a crush on smdh
> 
> I love comments, they keep me going!
> 
> You can talk to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tnbwrites) or on [Tumblr](https://tnbwrites.tumblr.com/)


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